Tomorrow is Another Day
by MorwennaTheWicked
Summary: The former Champion of Kirkwall, her apostate lover, and her faithful Mabari on the run just outside the Kocari Wilds.


Tomorrow is Another Day

Most of the characters in this story belong to Bioware and others, except for this incarnation of Hawke.

Anders cast a spell that I didn't recognize to quench the fires smoldering from the inferno, cast to deal with most of the bandits. Not that I was an expert on mage spells, despite having a sister and father who had the curse. My daggers, enhanced by Sandal's strange runes and a vial of a sweet-smelling but deadly greenish paste from Antiva, carefully applied, took care of most of the rest. My mabari, Ripper, chased down a straggler.

I looted the remains of the bodies that weren't too charred while Anders sat on a rock, his head in his hands. I spared him a glance, wondering how giving himself over to Vengeance cost him. But I knew he was also beginning to be overcome by guilt from the unrelenting death that was our life these days, when all he had ever wanted was to be a healer, and to be free. I stood and stretched then took a long quaff of water before I turned to him to rouse him from his misery. "We best be moving on in case someone comes to investigate the fire, not that there's much of anyone out here."

He nodded, his face ashen, and got to his feet. "I know, love. But can we find a safe place to camp? I'm so tired."

I couldn't resist a chuckle at that, tinged with more bitterness than I wanted to acknowledge. "I don't know if there's a safe place in all of Thedas for us, my love." But the Maker smiled upon us, and we found an abandoned farmhouse a few miles further on that even had a comfortable enough bed that the rats hadn't gotten to. It wasn't bad, and fairly well furnished because the farmers must have run off with only what essentials or valuables they could carry. The roof needed repairs, but it was warm enough, and not likely to rain. I suggested staying a few days to rest, and he agreed, with great relief.

We had been on the run since that night in Kirkwall, us, Varric, Merrill, and my sister Bethany at first. And for the hundredth time I cursed myself for not paying more attention to the ramblings expressed in his manifesto, pages of which he had left all over my house for years. Maker only knew how much of it had been left behind at his clinic. Because I didn't take him seriously, I was as much to blame for the Grand Cleric's death, as well as all those innocent sisters and brothers in the Chantry that night, not to mention all the deaths that followed. I still was haunted by the image of Fenris lying still and broken on the stone in my dreams.

But we rarely spoke of what had been done. We moved on, Ripper scouting ahead while I kept a wary eye on the high places any time we were forced into the hills away from open land or dense trees, expecting Sebastian's arrows. Not that I really thought he would organize an army to hunt us down. I told myself that at least we helped the prince make up his mind about returning to Starkhaven after years of dithering. If he did manage to gather an army, he would arrive at Kirkwall to find we were long gone.

Sometimes when I couldn't sleep, despite exhaustion, I asked myself if any of it would have happened if I hadn't gone there. What if we had made for Denerim or Redcliffe instead? But we were surrounded by the darkspawn, so we decided to flee to Kirkwall, and changed everything. Perhaps Varric never would have found a partner to fund Bartrand's expedition, and as the window of opportunity for exploring the Deep Roads passed, his brother might have contented himself with merchanting. Meridith would have never bought that cursed idol from him.

Perhaps without my 'help' Isabella would have never recovered the Qunari relic then run off with it, provoking war with them. And perhaps Anders would have toiled quietly in his clinic, curing the sick, healing the injured, and delivering an occasional baby. Perhaps the templars might have even let him be, though that wasn't likely given Meridith's fanaticism even before buying the idol. More likely the people he helped in Darktown would have set up a network of watchers to give him advance warning of their approach so their healer could escape.

That inevitably led to thoughts of how different Anders might have been if he hadn't been torn from his family at such a young age and raised in an atmosphere of distrust at best, and hostility at worst, surrounded by templars who watched the mages' every move for signs of corruption, even the smallest of the children. He told me his family was threatened with arrest if they tried to follow or came to see him. How could the Maker approve of treating a child like that? Bethany was fortunate that we moved around then finally settled far enough outside Lothering that we traveled into the village infrequently. Father had been there to teach her both how to hide, and how to use, her magic. None of our neighbors had suspected he was a mage, and not even our closest friends knew that Bethany had inherited his talent. Or his curse.

Friends. My thoughts drifted to poor Ave as I chewed quietly on a leg of rabbit that Ripper had flushed out of the brush that was the bulk of our supper. She and Varric had been my best friends in Kirkwall. I missed her terribly and thought of her often. She hadn't gone with us, or at least not for long. If I knew her, she turned herself in at the guard headquarters. I didn't want to think about it, but it was likely as not that she had been tried for our crime, guilt by association. The only hope was that in the end, even Cullen and his templars had seen Meridith's madness for what it really was and fought her with us, so I prayed he would put in a good word for her. I tried not to think about how it would affect her recent marriage to Donnic. As we were running towards the Gallows courtyard, I had overheard her admonishing Anders in her firm yet gentle way to give himself up as soon as Meridith was defeated. But I don't think she really expected him to. Herself? That was another matter.

I hated him then. I was furious with him for what he had done, and ashamed of myself that my fury was as much because he had lied to me and manipulated me into helping him set his explosives, as for the death and destruction he caused. But I knew we needed him if the mages stood any chance at all, so I swallowed my anger and forced myself to think coolly and rationally. I was always good at remaining calm in a crisis. Varric said it helped me get results. Bethany had joined with us, but Maker only knew what spells they had allowed her to learn in the Circle, and Merrill was no healer either. Thus I spared him because we needed him, in my heart using him as he had used me. I had fully intended to drive my dagger into his throat once we stopped Meridith.

But when the time came, once we were clear of Kirkwall and had found a place to hide in a cave on the Wounded Coast, Maker forgive me, I didn't. I couldn't. Not that night, and not in the hundred nights since. Perhaps it was because my foolish woman's heart overcame my cool head. Perhaps it was because he seemed genuinely surprised that I spared him, and so grateful it broke my heart. I had seen the good in him. He could be very kind, gentle, and loving. He could have been a good man, if he had been raised by a loving family who hadn't been taught by the Chantry to fear and despise mages. And the Maker created magic, didn't He? I told myself He must have a purpose for Anders. But most of all, I loved him. I still loved him, though slightly less than I used to.

I don't know what made me think we would find safety back home in Ferelden, but as the mages' rebellion spread, so did our notoriety, so it was hard to find any safe haven, and not just because of the Chantry's special hunters and mundane bounty hunters. Rather than seeing him as their savior, we learned that many mages hated Anders for forcing them out of their complacent lives in their Circles. We had traveled inland then eventually made our way back to Ostwick where we decided to find a ship that would take us back across the sea.

Bethany left us then, arguing that we stood a better chance if we weren't together. The Champion's companions were too well known. She had a lovely voice and joined a band of minstrels sailing for Orlais that Varric had introduced her to, none of whom knew she was a mage. She left with hardly a word to me, one of the complacent mages who had grown comfortable in her Circle, even in as bleak a Circle as Kirkwall's. After seeing her safely away, Varric told us he had decided to return home to Kirkwall so he could write our story down himself and tell it right.

At Anders' suggestion, we kept our hoods up whenever we slipped into a tavern to hear the latest news, though I argued that drew more attention to us. He tried to hide the fact that he was a mage, but this was another skill that was new to him. Using his magic was second nature. I felt like I was turning into my father, repeating his lectures to Bethany I had grown up hearing. Varric had gone to my house after we left the Gallows to grab what he could while the rest of us hid out in Darktown. Bodhan had always kept a travel pack ready for me. Varric was surprised to discover Bodhan had left the best of the weapons I had acquired but hadn't sold yet, as well as an extra bag of potions and a pouch of gems I thought I had hidden, waiting next to my pack . Varric reported that he and Sandal vanished, presumably gone to Orlais. But it wouldn't go far when split five ways.

We boarded the ship separately, and once on board we dared not give any indication that we were anything but strangers. The closest Ferelden cities were Amaranthine and Highever, but we were afraid Anders might be recognized in those, so we retraced my journey of seven years before and caught a ship that eventually took us to Gwaren. There we found wanted posters both on the chanter's board and in taverns. The only bright spot was finding some of the posters torn up or defaced. Sometimes I wondered if death would come in the form of someone like that handsome Antivan elven assassin, or through the Crows or another assassin guild. I was thankful that old man Barlin back in Lothering taught me a thing or two about traps and poison, and that Isabella had greatly added to my skills, teaching me everything she had learned in Antiva.

Merrill went with us on the ship because she still feared being alone and easy prey. It was difficult for all of us because Anders had never tried to hide his contempt for her. He always treated her like an idiot, a more dangerous version of Sandal. She and I were hardly friends at that point either since I had agreed with Keeper Marethari that she should not be given the tool to finish the Eluvian—every meeting between us in the weeks up to that day had ended in bitter words, until she finally threw me out of her house. Yet she took our side that day, for the sake of the mages. She stayed with us once we reached Gwaren and beyond, quiet as a shadow, helping with the hunting and cooking, but we weren't surprised one day when she announced quietly that it was time she went her own way, and she walked off into the Brecillian Forest without one backward glance.

We didn't have any set plans, though Anders' eyes glowed with excitement when he talked about finding sympathetic mages and leading the rebellion. And I thought I was the ambitious one. A traveling dwarven merchant whose camp we shared one night told us that even the templars were rebelling. The merchant also mentioned a curious thing—a dwarven woman had studied at the Circle and recently returned to Orzamar to establish a Circle there, which mages were flocking to as it was outside of the control of the Chantry. But we didn't want to make the journey all that way based on heresay, and Anders really hated the thought of living underground too.

We also considered setting out for Tervinter to see if we could find someone we could trust who could perform an exorcism on him, but the words of Keeper Marethari came back to me—that it could be done, but the soul afterwards would be a damaged, frail thing, like a wounded animal, and susceptible to all manner of attacks. He would need constant protection. Alone, I might have rejoined the Ferelden army. King Alistair had gone to Kirkwall seeking aid against a possible Orlesian invasion. But that would have meant leaving Anders, and I couldn't do it. We talked about simply vanishing into the Kocari Wilds, and I had a desperate but unspoken thought of looking for Flemeth and begging her to help him. But that was such a ridiculous idea I began to question my sanity.

And so we traveled, living on what I could hunt or steal from farms we passed once our coin ran out. I was a fair shot thanks to some archery lessons from Sebastian, and Merrill had taught me to hunt like the Dalish. Anders always made camp and wasn't a bad cook, a skill he had gladly acquired in the Gray Wardens. When Ripper wasn't off with me, he was guarding Anders, something neither of them was happy about. We settled into a routine. But though we slept in one another's arms, we had rarely been intimate since that day. That was the last thing on our minds when we still traveled with the others, but being alone hadn't renewed the flames of desire on either of our parts. It was as if that part of our lives was broken, perhaps beyond repair.

It made me wonder as sleep evaded me that night, even as I noted how Anders didn't seem to have the same problem, if our entire relationship had been a lie. I thought back as I lay there to how I had flirted with him when I caught him watching me, instantly attracted by his "sexy, tortured look." Maker, I was so brazen. He would flirt back then push me away, only serving to make me want to pursue him more. That first night we made love at my estate, after sneaking him into my chamber so my mother wouldn't know like I was a girl and not a grown woman, he was the one who suggested moving in with me, telling me how the templars had been practically on his doorstep only that morning. He knew of the passage the slavers who had lived in the Amell estate had used for fast access to Darktown, so to ease his fears, I had given him the key that would let him in cellars. Had he expected that? Was that why he brought it up? Looking back, I couldn't believe how gullible I was, but I couldn't blame him either. The way he was raised, constant fear would make deceit and manipulation second nature.

I turned on my side and watched him after he mumbled something in his sleep. Ripper was immediately on alert and sat up and looked over, then lay back down. Perhaps we might find a solution in Tervinter, but after hearing Fenris's stories, I didn't know how long either of us would last in that dark place, or how long it would be before Justice's sense of outrage forced Anders to act.

I watched him for a moment longer then reached out and touched the handle of my dagger and drew it slowly, watching Anders as I did. But he didn't awaken. In the back of my mind I had wondered if Justice was alert even as Anders slept and could warn him of any danger. I drew close and leaned over him. It would be over so fast, I told myself, that he wouldn't know what was happening. My skill and the sweet poison, smelling of almonds, would make sure of that. He would be free at last, and Justice would be free, as would I, after I turned my blade on myself. I watched him as he slept until I felt my muscles grow stiff from crouching too long in one position. I sighed softly and dropped back onto the bed after sliding the dagger back in its sheath. Tomorrow was another day.


End file.
